Survival Is Not An Option
by Dreksler
Summary: Survival is not an option; it is instinct. Individuals when pushed to the extreme may overcome the odds stacked against them. For Rachel, the social pariah of McKinley High, she will have to learn this as the world around her is the enemy.     Her enemy.
1. Chapter One

SURVIVAL IS NOT AN OPTION

That phrase echoed through her head, and it bounced along her small, blonde curls. Her crisp-blue eyes glittered intensely, as they flicked around in their sockets. She ducked low to the ground, behind a shattered boulder; her antique hand grazing gently across the slashed rock.

In her left hand, she held a knife in a backwards stance- the sharp, keen blade glistened in the orange light. She flattened herself against the rock, and took a deep breath in. And out. She steadied her nerves, and withdrew her arm; resting the knife near her face.

Sue Sylvester would not die- dammit! Not if she could help it...and if she was going to die, she would go out fighting. Not a coward. Her stocky frame shivered slightly, as the cold bit into her tattered red tracksuit. Her blonde curls quivered.

And Sue Sylvester went into battle with her head held high.

* * *

><p>Sway. And creak. The half-sounds began to clear as her hearing became sober. Her brown, luscious locks of hair coiled downwards as she was suspended in mid-air. A stuttered gasp wrenches free from her sore vocal cords, as her brain pounds painfully against her skull. A scream dies along her flush throat; but that doesn't stop the fear clenching around her chest.<p>

The panic-rat is loose in her brain, and it's nibbling her away like grain.

Rachel's dark eyes darted, trying to make sense of the upside-down world. She tried to move her 'man' hands, but found them tightly bound around her hips. Her fragile legs were firmly wrapped, with several layers of grimy rope. She began to cry- the small tears descending down her face, and slipping along her forehead.

Rachel shook her head left and right, trying to get loose. Instead, her deep-brown eyes found a sight that made her scream wildly. Another body twirled in the air, the twine tied around its ankle. It stank of rotten flesh- maggots swirled around in the eye cavities. Rachel Berry thrashed, until ragged breaths ripped out of her mouth.

"I can't die like this. I can't. I mustn't" Rachel rambled, trying to calm herself down. **_I would never get a Tony... and I would die a nobody. I can't- I must not let that happen. _**

The crackle of flame became noticeable to her ears. The flame crackled far away; the garish-orange colour soaked across the pale, stone wall. It flickered and cracked beside the hung corpse... whose pungent stench began to waft over Rachel's face.

Rachel was glad she didn't have a gagging reflex. Because if she did, she would surely be dry-heaving the remnants of her stomach contents over the upside-down floor below.

Rachel's bones began to stiffen and creak slightly, as she twirled in the air. Her fingers [from her weak vantage point] were starting to go purple. Her short, stubby nails were chipped and muddied. She glanced right, towards the suspended carcass. Clumps of kinky-blonde hair were planted amongst a mouldy, black skull. An outstretched, blackened hand dangled limply in mid-air.

Fire jumped onto the pecked leftovers of decomposed flesh- and quickly lit the body alight. It was a beacon. The harsh flames pricked Rachel's eyes, still adjusting from the murky depths of unconsciousness.

That was when the metaphorical light bulb went on in her head.

Rachel had a plan in her head- a goal. And like she had said to Finn, she always strove to achieve. _Here's hoping it might work. _Rachel began to push herself right- and let go. She swung to the left limply. And swung slowly to the right, Rachel exerting her weight slightly. She let the pressure go again.

Her body crashed against the corpse's bindings, and began swaying back. She grunted in frustration. **_Dammit! I'm going to die, __i'mgoingtodie, _**_**i'mgoingtodie**... _She began to descend into fits of crying, the tears shaking down her face.

She howled coarsely, into the frigid air.

She felt something fiery, against her fingers. Prickling like a thousand pins into her flesh, a tiny flame of hope festered on the grimy binds. Her eyes were still blurry with tears, so Rachel didn't notice anything. Until the rope frayed... letting her go slightly. She stopped her sniffles, and looked [as far] up. Fire danced welcomingly, along the thin rope holding her up. Rachel smiled, her chapped lips stretching along her tanned face.

Snap.

The world was a blur as she fell backwards. Her brown locks whipped across her face, as she cast her arms around herself. She twisted herself around, to land- _**well more gently**. _She opened her eyes and shock gripped her.

A long, metal spike protruded from the ground. Rachel's eyes widened.

* * *

><p>His face was cold, and his lips were blue. Thick-rimmed, black plastic glasses were splayed on the ground underneath- his vision was cloudy and shapes were swimming. Only a small cluster [flaunting at him] stayed unnervingly still. He tried to rustle, but could only hear a loud crack.<p>

He stopped, his breaths beginning to quicken. He couldn't see anything, and yet he was certain- deadly certain- that he was not on the ground, and that something had tied him to his wheelchair.

The ropes holding his wheelchair, on the steep platform snapped. And Artie Abram's wheelchair rolled down the slope, towards a pile of untidy spikes.

* * *

><p>Rachel screamed as the metal ripped through her shoulder. Blood poured, and slid down her arm. Her fingers were slick with- her- dark-red blood. She screamed, as pain ran along her spine like fire. The metal spike had ripped through her entire shoulder, and had nearly come close to her ear. All she could feel was the metal jutting from her flesh- her heart pounded in her ears as her life began to drip away.<p>

Instinct grabbed her brain, and made her focus on one thing- survival. The pain was still there, and yet it was not there. She grunted, as she began to push up- her flesh shirking on the spike. Pain jarred across her bones, ragged breaths ripping out quicker and quicker. But she carried on, the barbed spear in her shoulder gradually slinking free.

Finally, Rachel plopped onto the desecrated floor- her shoulder free. Blood still pumped from her shoulder, now onto her torso- and onto the ground. The burnt corpse above twirled in her blurring vision, as she felt herself being carried up.

_No. I WILL NOT DIE! _Rachel began to fight the drowsiness, the blood loss weaving around her mind. Quickly, everything was sharp to her brown eyes. Moving fast, she ripped off her shirt sleeve- white tufts flying- and began to tighten it around her right shoulder. Rachel pulled her head back, and screamed loudly into the air. The blood had crusted on her pale shirt. Panting and gasping harshly, the pain subsided.

Rachel delicately stood up, clutching her shoulder tightly in her tiny fists.

Turn. Tumble. Dump. Rachel landed on her palms, grazing her hands nastily. She winced, twisting her face nastily as a tiny prickle of pain shot through her nerves. The cold, rusty taste of blood was on her tongue. She spat it out, and ran her hand under her chin- wiping away the spittle. Rachel got up again, swaying precariously.

Wiping some strands of her brunette hair out of her face, Rachel Berry lifted her head up. In her eyesight, she could see a ruined piano in the corner. Dust covered it like a mist; the slink-black exterior cracked now.

And with a slight jolt of pain, Rachel realised where she was.

She was in McKinley High's choir room [_**or what was left of it**]_. The silver bandstands were all cluttered in a messy pile, next to the smashed piano. Dull shock approached across her face, as Rachel swirled- the sweet shish of her green-plaid skirt in the silence.

Her world... was shattered. Rachel swallowed back a sob, her eyes watering slightly. All the happy memories shattered like glass fragments. There! A broken, plastic chair lies on the ground covered in ash; but in Rachel's eyes she could see the bright eyes of Finn as he paid attention.

**_Finn! _**

The ghost of a memory crumbled, and faded into dust. Rachel turned around, towards an open door frame. Walking over the thick door [laid on the ground, with the hinges broken off], Rachel tightened her shoulder bandage. The pain hurt, but Rachel felt a chill in her bones:

**_I'm in for a world of hurt. _**

..._  
><em>

A school corridor. Normally, Rachel would be hurrying along with her books clenched in her arms, close to her chest. The corridors were deathly quiet, like the grave. Some lockers were flapped open, papers spilled over the pale floor. Rachel's bare feet skittered across the calculus practise papers, as she walked down the corridor.

Bleached wall to her left, with several small windows up high- midday light poured, cutting through the darkness. Dust hung heavily on the air, small specks floating on the light. The cold bit into Rachel, making her quiver violently. Her bare feet were numb; her tanned skin pale and spoiled with dirt. Trudging along, Rachel looked around wildly; looking for familiar faces.

Instead her brown eyes rested on the dead face of Jacob Ben-Israel. Rachel recoiled backwards, her ankles twisting- falling onto her back. Horror in her eyes, it moved her across the corridor. Jacob's glazed-over eyes pierced Rachel's- at the corner of his mouth ran a few ripples of blood.

A poppy bruise on his forehead, and his jaw was slack. His glasses still hung around the bridge of his large nose, and his afro-hair was still bouncy.

**_Jesus, what happened to you? I mean, sure you were annoying...but... something is here. I hope I don't across it. It must have done killing you and ran off. But then... it's not me at least. That's good, right? _**

_Yes._

**_What was that? Who's there! Huh. I must have imagined a voice. Never mind that. Jacob's dead! He was killed. I could be next. I don't want to be next.. I don't want to die! _**

_Calm down and think._

**_There again! What was that? _**

_Rachel, I am you. A part of you never realised you had. Listen to me and you will live. But you and I both know that the journey will test you beyond your limits. You will see things that will horrify you. You will have to fight for your life. Or you shall surrender it._

Reality came back to Rachel. She was on the floor, facing the dead corpse of Jacob Ben-Israel. His face was painted with horror. Her back was against the white wall, her legs stretched out in front of her.

_See what's on him- it might help you._

Rachel twisted her legs around, and pulled herself into a sitting position. Biting her bottom lip, Rachel reached her hands towards Jacob's body. His head lolled further down, and a little spittle drooled out. Rachel grimaced slightly. Before death it seems Jacob had been wearing a cotton sweater with a striped shirt. Black sneakers and grey jeans. In a clenched fist, he had held a pocket knife.

Rachel took it delicately. It felt strange in her hands, as it glinted in the sunlight. She felt stronger. She was looking at it in wonderment, but twisted her head round to Jacob. Her frozen fingers began to peel the blue sweater off the corpse. Apart from a few crusty blood stains, the blue sweater was nice. The soft fabric under Rachel's fingertips soothed her.

She carefully removed her bloody shirt, her tanned skin prickling. Gingerly, Rachel put the sweater on over her shoulders. Small tinge of pain in her shoulder. Rachel shook it off, landing her eyes on Jacob's. In life, Rachel thought no better of him. In death however, Rachel pitied him.

"Rest in peace, Jewfro," Rachel simply said in a hoarse voice. She reached a trembling hand over, and closed shut his eyelids. She felt empty, like a cold husk.

_Get used to the feeling. You will see many people die, but the important thing is to carry on. To carry on living. _

_To carry on breathing._

* * *

><p>This is the first chapter of my new fanfiction 'Survival Is Not An Option'. Rated M in Horror for gore, language and character death.<p> 


	2. Chapter Two

Time seemed to slow down, as he rolled down the steep slope. Artie's hands were tied to the sides of his wheelchair, above the wheels. However... Artie jutted his feet out, into the path of the rubber circles. Stainless steel spokes shone in his blue eyes. The gnashing of wheels over his feet, the sound was nasty to his ears. But Artie knew what he was doing.

He always did.

The wheelchair slipped onto the right side, and began to roll wildly...away from the barbs. Artie flew through the air, landing on his knees. The wheelchair crashed into the clump of spikes. He could hear the rubber wheels burst, and the air spilling free. Artie groaned, his head banging.

With a sigh, his body sagged as he fell into the black...

* * *

><p>The sneakers were a rough fit; Rachel decided finally. The black sneakers clenched sharply around her ankles, and there was little room for her toes. <em>But it's better than going barefoot. <em>

_Better get going._

Rachel stood up, flicking the pocket knife out. She held the blade out, glinting faintly in the sunshine. Adapting a cautious stance, Rachel sneaked down the rest of the corridor. Oak double doors with cracked window panes came into her view. Relaxing, Rachel straightened herself up- the squeak of her shoes loud in the stillness.

_Duck down, girl! You never who-or what- might be here. Duck down!_

Rachel crouched down again, and rushed over to one of the double-doors. Her back was against the cold wood. Darting her head out quickly, she peered through the shattered glass. Through the thousand images cascading into her eyes, Rachel could see a shadowy figure. The shadowy figure had their back turned to her. The outline was sharp, and tall.

_Keep your guard up and don't approach. Walk away, go around- don't approach! _

Rachel ignored the little voice in her head. And burst through the oak doors, with a loud crash. The figure didn't move and yet... the back of its head was bald. Shaved. Rachel cracked a relieved smile, and hustled over with an outstretched hand.

"Noah!" she shrieked. Puckerman turned around, with a quizzical look plastered on his long face as Rachel hugged his mid-riff. His eyebrows lifted up. "Thank Yahweh!" Rachel gasped out, clutching him tightly.  
>"Rachel-uh- can you get off me?" Puckerman asked. Rachel took herself off, still smiling brightly. "Number one rule: never run with knives. You might accidently stick someone with it." Puckerman admonished, pointing towards her pocket knife.<p>

Rachel bowed her head. Puckerman laughed. And she began to chortle slightly. And outright cackle along with him. He picked up a long piece of wood- cracked, with a small spat of cracked blood in tiny cracks. A baseball bat.

"Come on. We've gotta get out of here. "Puckerman said; beckoning her with a small shake of his head. Rachel tightened her grip around the knife, and moved beside Puck. They stayed still, listening around.

_Well, I guess I was wrong. Huh. Keep your guard up though- you never know what might be lurking in the shadows. _

"I saw Jacob." Rachel simply said. Puckerman looked back at her, with a questioning glance in his eyeballs. "He's dead. Someone- or something- killed him." Rachel continued.  
>"And you think I did it?" Puckerman asked his voice raising. Rachel took a breath, and shook her head.<br>"I'm not saying you did. I'm just telling you." Rachel continued- Puckerman's face relaxed slightly, yet his grip on the baseball bat tensed.

There was an uneasy silence between them. Crack. Rachel's ears pricked up, recognition flared up in Puck's eyes. She moved closer to him, holding the knife up to her ear- back stance. Puckerman twirled around; the two teenagers back-to-back. Harshly breathing, Rachel's knuckles began to turn white as she held her knife in a tight-iron clench.

"I don't suppose you'd know what's going on, would you, Noah?" Rachel asked in a callous whisper.  
>"No, Berry I don't. All I know is that something happened, and now everything's gone to hell. Hey'-he looked at her bandaged shoulder- 'what happened to your shoulder?"<br>"Nothing you need to worry about No-what was that?"

Another loud creak erupted far to their left. Rachel whined, stuttering slightly as her tiny frame shook- Puckerman was stoic, listening around. They waited- their hearts pumping loudly. It could hear them...It could smell their fear on the air, and sighed happily.

It would have fun with these two. But for now, It decided to play around with the humans. See how far It could take them.

Rachel's breathing gradually calmed down. A sense of relief ran down her spine, stopping the jittering of her stubby fingers. Noah breathed out a long sigh.  
>"That was close..." Rachel said, her voice stuttering slightly.<br>"What do ya mean?" Puckerman said, his face pinching with confusion. Rachel turned around; her bedraggled hair whipping across her shoulders in fat lumps.  
>"Didn't you feel it? Like someone was watching you?" Rachel whispered- <em>She's definitely gone crazy.<br>_"All I heard was that creak. And that could have been anything" Puckerman said lightly- he turned around to meet Rachel's slightly angry face. "What?" he asked innocently.

Rachel just shook her head out of frustration.

* * *

><p>Oh shit. Fuck, crap... words could not express his panic.<p>

Coifed, brunette hair laced with dust- chapped lips shivering as the cold pierced his gut. Blue and green eyes could see only darkness- apart from a small crack of light quivering along his fragile frame.

Kurt Hummel woke up to find his world black around him.

* * *

><p>Rachel was quiet. Puckerman was pleasantly surprised- <em>I never thought that this girl could ever shut up. <em>Rachel had a thick scowl plastered on her face, as she thought carefully.

**_Something doesn't seem right with Noah._**

_You're telling me- did he seem overly defensive to you? About Jewfro's death? _

**_Yeah. Why though? He said he didn't so..._**

_Yeah; but 'never take anything with a pinch of salt' comes to mind here._

**_True. Should I pursue it?_**

_Not yet. If he killed Jacob ... that suggests that he knows how to kill without remorse. Wait until you know you can overpower him._

**_He has a weak spot for the opposite sex. Perhaps I can exploit that...?_**

_Atta girl._

* * *

><p>NOTE:<p>

_**Bold writing **_represents normal Rachel thoughts.

_Non-bold italics _represent another person's thoughts or the 'voice' Rachel has inside her head.

Please review! [begs with puppy eyes]_  
><em>


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